


A Deluxe of Debauchery

by BonbonChocolat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Food Kink, M/M, Mirror Sex, More to label as chapters progress, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonbonChocolat/pseuds/BonbonChocolat
Summary: This is dedicated for kink-tober. There are explicit scenes ahead.
Relationships: Fon (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!)/Harry Potter, Fon/Skull (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Harry Potter/Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Reborn/Skull (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 104





	1. Mirror Sex | Fon/Skull

“Look at yourself, Skull. You're so, so gorgeous,” Fon murmurs in softness, as he caresses his lover's curved legs. Skull lies on the floor against his abdomen, his spine faintly curled. A mirror embellished with gold garnishing, and beautiful curves along its side, is settled against the plain walls, close to his rosy face.

Huh— _gorgeous_? With sweat clinging in persistence to his body, and features akin to melting when Fon digs his emptiness further, then he is brimming with the Storm's dense fullness—he thinks that everything is beyond comprehension because there is no beauty in filth. His clarity is over the constellations. “It's too embarrassing. I'm positive that I look perfectly stupid,” He says, with words leaving his lips, and his tongue almost knots itself. The declaration has not slipped like he desired to.

“Do you truly think so. . .?” Fon gazes with mirth shining in his irides. He unearths his fingers, enveloping them around Skull's thighs, and the flesh softens on his hold. The Storm's hips advance as he buries himself, then they fall back once his lover whimpers. Skull's knees, which are marked by the lines of the wooden floor, weaken as Fon brushes his core. He looks above, and sees the mist blurring the glassy mirror. His lover at his back is glowing with a teasing smile on his face, and Fon's cock successfully seeks its favorite place in him. The Cloud slowly tilts his head—in haze—and in understanding. Then, he studies the little details on his features, and what surrounds him. His delicate lips retain their usual pinkness, no bruise smears them, and his piercings are missing. His ears tinted with beautiful scarlet, teeth leaving their imprints. Lilac eyes gleaming with transparent clearness. Little, white droplets staining the brown hues of the oak tiles. At last, the Storm's hair tie sits on the floor.

The Cloud gently mumbles, “I look so indecent. Why do you even want to gaze at this. . .?” His charm is common in comparison to Fon's unique one. _The Storm is enchanting, with his sympathetic eyes meshed in bronze colors. His words, mouth, lips, and everything are brewed with the concoction of a Hibiscus tea—that has been sipped before the occurrence of their sessions._

“You're very alluring. That is what I know,” This reason is enough for Skull's heart to plummet deeper. _Fon is never selfless. The Storm's tactless perspective is valued more than any class of self pity that wallows Skull. Fon is never selfless. His bliss weighs greater than the Cloud's reluctance, and self-esteem._

A callous hand treads its way to Skull's neglected cock. Fon's thumb brushes against his dripping slit, as his other fingers encircle themselves around the subtly crimson-tinted flesh. The Storm manipulates his digits, as they massage the tender tips, and they glide along the skin. The Cloud's spine curves, and his sides tremble in intensity. In an instant, Skull lifts his head when his lover changes his time-consuming pace.

With the use of his other hand, Fon reaches his partner's sweat-dampened tresses, and he seizes them. He tugs them with unfaltering prowess, forcing Skull to face his beautiful reflection. “Do you believe me now. . .?” _(Do you think so too?)_ The Storm insists.

As Skull peers at the mirror, Fon's sweet smile dims the clarity of the glass. He sees nothing else but that.


	2. Food Play & Rimming | Fon/Harry/Reborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sky! Harry. Reborn as his Sun and Fon as his Storm.

* * *

Amber honey clings in resolve to Harry's chest, as an inseparable golden liquid drips to his skin. The glassy container is slanted by Fon's clasp, as honey seeps from the slot of the glass. The sunny liquid is glutinous against Harry's chest, it softly cloaks his bareness in a time-devouring process, and sweet honey continues to cascade, descending to his ivory stomach—leaving shapeless trails. The fluid smears the smoothness of the Sky's skin, causing his whiteness to shine in brilliant translucence, as the untouchable streaks of sunlight from the gaps of the curtain filter themselves to the room. 

The mass of honey falling from the glass lessens as more liquid veils the Sky's physique. The container's content runs out when its last substance drops upon his bosom. 

Along with the delight of honey laying on his skin, there is warmth blossoming at his rear, and Harry sets his immodest gaze below. The unique side-burns of his Sun greet his sight, and the beautiful redness caking his elongated digits. The fruity, akin to caramel, aroma is what his sense of smell perceives. The thick, ruby-tinted syrup creates slushy streaks across his ample buttocks, as Reborn sullies his hole, and the Sun leaves incomplete finger-imprints of the strawberry syrup in his hands. His milky thighs are flushed with fruity scarlet as the fluid dribbles to the mattress. 

Thieving his attention away from his Sun, the Storm leans close to his undressed chest, and his fingertips splotch the honey. He places his honey-coated finger to the inside of his mouth, wet tongue tasting the amber liquid. He gives the Sky a vulture-like smile, and Harry is close to quivering when he sees it. 

Fon's fingers caress his bosom, and withdraws them, watching the dripping golden liquid that glazes his nails, in absolute wonder. The Storm's shrewd tongue flicks across his glossy nipple. He lets a nipple slip inside his sweetened lips, and his palate savors the flavor. Harry adorably gasps when he feels his lover's tongue sweep across his chest. The Sky's elbows bury themselves further in the plush mattress when Fon whisks it with damp lips, and he settles a hand on his other nipple to simply toy with it. 

Below his laying body, the Sun extends his widened legs further to their opposite sides. Reborn consumes the trail of strawberry syrup soiling Harry's creamy thighs, and he leaves affectionate kisses on his lithe inner thighs. 

He casts his dusk-like eyes on the Sky's figure, and they glimpse with ashen sharpness. His palms wrap themselves around Harry's pearly flesh, and he lets his head subtly droop until he can face his Sky's red-tinted rear. His hungry tongue meets Harry's glazed rim, _(the sugary sourness lingers)_ and he drags it on his Sky's opening, creating long licks. He devours the bright crimson that messily drizzles from Harry's entrance; in his mind, _his Sky tastes so delectable—and Reborn's appetite grows._ Reborn hears his lover's beautiful mewls—and the pressing strain in his under-clothings become more difficult to tolerate. 

The Sun's callous hand slithers its way towards Harry's titillated cock, as they curl themselves around it. Reborn fastens his hold upon it, and his hand rises to the weeping tip, the soft skin of his hand compresses it, and his hand descends—the routine revolves, again and again. As he plays with his Sky's arousal, his mouth continues to feast on Harry's buttocks—it cleanses the wealthy delicacy attached to his Sky's rear. 

His emerald eyes stumble in misty vagueness, as the cheery pleasure twisting in him heightens. Fon's touches are ethereal— _they are all impressed over him so the Sky cannot forget who brews his contentment._ The richness of Reborn's fondness makes Harry disregard his calmness— _the Sun's love pulls the little strings which heartens the Sky's phantasms._ They cause Harry to desire for nothing else— _that is when everything else is no longer anything_. They know what he needs. 

Once Harry is unable to sustain the bliss disentangling within him—he lets go of the pressure resonating in his sleepy core. White—unchastity exudes from his rosy slit, and his tense shoulders along with his arms fall to the bed. The Two guardians observe him with astute irides, permissive enough to let Harry pick himself up part by part—never sufficiently patient to allow the Sky mend himself every little by little.

Lacking any prompt, the Storm, who sits beside his restless figure, tangles the Sky's moist tresses. Harry glances at the sylph-like smile gracing Fon's mystifying features. _“It's your turn, love,”_ Fon tells, and his hands are already grasping the Sky's black locks, as Harry slants his muddled head. The Storm creates abstract lines in his legs, and he invites Harry to come closer between them; the Sky obliges, as his drowsy body approaches him. 

With glowing diamond-like green pupils, he adores the wispy creaminess that glazes Fon's obvious hardness. _He just wants to devour it whole._ While he is occupied admiring—a gravelly voice severes his adoration. “Don't be so greedy, Fon,” Reborn asserts, his words successfully distract Harry, precisely what the Sun is aiming for. 

The Storm half-hearted lets out a throaty laugh. “You'll get your chance soon, Reborn. _Just wait—impatiently,”_ He utters in a teasing tone, as his clutch to Harry's hair tightens. Reborn warily observes him, and he acknowledges that the man will not be loosening his grasp on his—their Sky. Without other options, the Sun discards the matter. Implying a desire to challenge Fon seems unwise— _and Reborn is desperate enough to no longer delay his pleasure._

_“Go on, savor it,”_ Fon says with definite authority stirring in his voice. The Sky shyly opens his rosy lips, and lets his tongue brush against the adorned slit of Fon's aroused cock. Pale whip-cream thaws in his palate, as the milky sweetness unrolls itself. Harry's tongue lolls around the Storm's thick cock, licking the veins, as its velvety surface coats the skin of Fon's arousal with clear saliva. His mouth encloses itself around the head of the Storm's firmness, and it warmly welcomes Fon's penis. Harry tastes him, and it reoccurs over and over once more. His soft lips embrace the tender flesh, and it sinks in his mouth. 

A pleased groan slips away from Fon's lips, as his chest rises harsher. He feels Harry's hand seize his stiff cock—and the Storm is close to his bliss. He stares at Harry with a worshipful expression, his hazel eyes flashing with devoted intimacy. Harry remains bewitching even when he is taking the Storm's cock. The Sky's features are akin to begging—with the corners of his blooming lips prettily stretched by Fon's thickness, sharp emerald eyes close to gushing transparent tears, and reddened cheeks hollow as they earnestly struggle to pleasure Fon. _What a heavenly picture his little Sky paints._

A familiar hand, that definitely does not belong to his Storm, lies on his disrobed spine, and his gaze focuses on Reborn, who has a sincerely amused smirk adorning his face. “Touch me,” His Sun whispers— _and who is he to deprave the enthralling man from gaining his well-deserved nirvana?_

Reborn settles himself in the mattress close to him, and Harry reaches out for him. The Sky's hand slips to the inside Reborn's boxers, as his digits pull the garment down. His lissom fingers encompass the Sun's hardness, reverently pressing at its base, and ascending to its leaking slit. Reborn's essence drips, and Harry smudges it along his Sun's cock. His strokes become smoother, and the Sky sustains the blissful cycle. 

Warmth bursts in Harry's occupied mouth, as the expected bitterness reveals itself. Fon's essence fills his cavern, and the Sky simply swallows the salty substance, as his Storm's seed slides at his throat (He will gladly consume it as long as it is from his lovers—a lecherous fantasy, he knows). Fon separates his cock from his Sky's pinkish lips, and smiles in absolute contentment at Harry. The Storm gives Reborn a familiar expression, and his Sun immediately knows what it expresses. 

Fon leaves his position, and he grabs his hair-tie laying motionless atop the lavish drawer. Reborn delightfully takes the Storm's former spot. 

The Sun offers him a ravenous look, as Reborn speaks his desire, _“Won't you savor me too, Harry?”_


	3. Lingerie | Reborn/Skull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skull in a lingerie. I'm experimenting with this dynamic so characterizations may differ.

Sylph-like fibers embrace Skull's sinuous figure, flawlessly fitting his slim body like a coiling snake. The blackness of the dress causes his Violet features to shine in prominence. Freckles-like spheres are aligned vertically as they decorate the pronounced blankness. The wispy sleeves cover his shoulders—until his wrists. Swirls of flowery intricacies and spiraling vines beautify the see-through sleeves. A core with sides similar to petals adorn the dress's chest part—a rose sigil sits in the vacancy of the core. The lacey fabric ends at his feet, as it glides along with the marble texture.

With bare-feet, Skull saunters towards the spacious room and his eyes find Reborn's resting body at the plushy sofa seat. He advances close to the cushion, and he sits at it. _(Nonetheless, the temptation to sit atop Reborn's lap disturbs his thoughts. He'll deprave the man from that enjoyment for now.)_

“You're going to break this again, aren't you?” He teases, and the hit-man casts his attention on Skull, although his body has not yet left the comfortable seat.

“Again. . .? Huh, it does seem familiar.” Reborn leans his head to the side, as he lets his lips flatten to a line. The same patterns of floral and the beautiful dark hue greet his sight. He does recall seeing Skull dress himself in that lingerie. The lacey fabric had been torn with ease in his hold in a not so unintentional method.

Skull says, “This is the duplicate of the lingerie you broke days ago, Reborn.”

“Is it?” He asks—his tone trying to imitate innocence in a whimsical manner.

He gives the hit-man an exasperated expression. The man is simply unbelievable to the extent of being insufferable as well. “Stop acting clueless. We both know you're going to tear this one apart.”

“I'll take that as a sign of your permission,” The hit-man states.

“You're such a big piece of shit. Just get on with it already,” Skull speaks with a weary voice. Truth to be told, he is fine with Reborn destroying his lavish clothings since the hit-man pays for them. It just gets tiring having to shop for more when he can grab a lingerie on the go rather than search for one that suits him perfectly. _Reborn is just so selective, with his majestic preferences and likes—and it vexes Skull at times._

“Very demanding. Off it goes, princess,” He announces, as his fingers grasp the delicate fabric, and he suddenly stops mid-way. “By the way, you look charming in it.”

Skull raises a brow. “Will that make you stop ripping it?”

“You put too much faith in me, sweetheart,” He says with a faint smile clinging to his face—and nothing ever convinces him. “No. Not at all. Isn't that just fantastic?”

“I shouldn't have bothered asking you. Your answer always disappoints me.” He has fooled himself to even attempt hoping that Reborn will stop, may it be once or twice.

“A-huh. You really shouldn't have bothered.” He laughs. “Now, just lay still and stay pretty for me, Skull.” _Oh—Skull always does. Reminding him to stay pretty is not even necessary. He would have succeeded either way._


	4. Aftercare | Fon/Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sky Harry and Storm guardian Fon. Mostly fluff.

The soft sheets conceal the bareness of their resting figures. With disrobed legs tangling themselves with one another to pacify the carnal tension hanging in the ambience, and the pressure lessens as the actions become chastely tender in their eyes. They move in sweet progression, lazing in the advancement of illusive time. They are free when they bask in each other's presence; _it is unnecessary to struggle slipping away from the stalling calmness especially when it is rare._

Fon reaches for his lover's waist as his arm envelops Harry's waist. His light fingertips dip in his Sky's creamy skin, as they immerse themselves in the layers of his flesh. He caresses the marred marks below, his fingers meandering along the discolored hips. The ends of his digits glow with cherry redness, and they massage the formed bruises blemishing Harry's fair complexion. _If Harry is less exhausted, he may have given Fon a strained smile saying—that he can handle the inflicted harm for they will go away and heal themselves and his Storm does need to bother ensuring his condition is fine—yet Fon will never believe that, much to Harry's grateful relief._

A fleeting gush of glee lingers in the Storm's stomach, like a swamp of fluttering moths hooked within him and they become gone as the moment ceases.

His feather-like touches earn a halcyon giggle from Harry—definitely caused by the ticklish sensation. Fon likes how simple things can make his Sky glow in merriment. Harry never asks for anything else. Perhaps, it is because he does not know how to, and it worries Fon. They have time, may it be ticking to none, Harry can learn how to ask for things he desires for _(There is nothing else to dream for when the knowledge—that he has more than enough is deeply engraved in his collection of tokens. It is just him and Fon in their haven)._

He nudges Harry's shoulder, gesturing to his lover to face him. With sleepy eyes blinking wearily and a lolling body, Harry disentangles his legs with Fon's, and he turns his body to Fon's direction. The Storm plants soft kisses on Harry's forehead down to the line of his chin. His Sky simply embraces his body as his response. If Harry is not feeling lazy, he may have returned the innocent kisses in a greater amount. That certainly would have made Fon more blissful.

“Do you wish to sleep?” Fon serenely inquires. He notices the repetitive drowsiness cycling in Harry's movements.

“Mmm,” He lazily hums as he struggles to keep his eyes open. Harry's sight continues to blur. “Maybe later. I want to hug you longer.”

He suggests, “You always can, after you take a rest, love.” Harry knows his Storm is not going anywhere unreachable as of now, though the following days may be uncertain.

“But, it won't be that sentimental if I hug you later,” His restless Sky jests — is it really a jest? — with a hesitant voice. _(We should stay like this for a while. Can we?)_

Fon plainly looks at him with an understanding expression. “All right, but go to sleep when you're satisfied.”

“Yeah, will do,” He mumbles with incoherence. Harry buries his head onto his Storm's neck, inhaling the faint mint-scented aroma, while Fon allows him to do what he wants. Soon, he finds himself in a deep slumber.


	5. Begging. . .? |  Reborn/Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the type of begging that you may expect. Not the kind of consequence that normally occurs. This leans on angst & open-ended.

_The Sky requests—with his dignity no longer clinging to his reasonings, “Kiss me, please.” The phrase comes out as if he has never pressed his lips against someone's. He is much desperate to feel his Sun claim him over-and-over once more. Just one soft kiss to deny his hesitant thoughts. That his Sun does not carry any any affection for him. That his Sun simply associates himself with him due to what he can offer. They are always giving parts to each other except for the touch of their lips. Harry wishes to cherish the sensation of sunny warmth twisting in his mouth, not only his skin when he has burned that portion several times—the Sky can no longer recall the numbers._

_Precisely a hopeless boy, the hit-man sees the fineness of his Sky's gorgeous despair. Everything is pulled for this exact moment in which his Sky is willing to give up righteousness for a little thing. Reborn deserves to witness the engrossing occurence—after all he has suppressed his impulses to attain such delectable response from his lovely sky. The hit-man has refrained himself from biting, devouring those pink lips shamelessly until they are the sole parts he can taste in his tongue, and when his appetite rises from its lair—the Sky's lips are what he will remember, and what he will fantasize each time a crooked longing visits him._

_“Harry, do you truly think you deserve to receive one? Huh.” The hit-man causes him to question his self-worth. He says heedless remarks which drip with shrewdness, and Harry becomes lost in his selfless qualms. His Sun twists him in ease. At some point, distrust flourishes in his perspective. Has he always been better without Reborn? Nowadays, Harry does not attempt to ponder about the compassionate trivialities which the hit-man has shown to him long ago. The incompetent reminders cause him to rue on most sessions._

_“Just once—Reborn. Please listen to me.”_

_“Should I? What makes you think I'll obey?” Reborn provokes with a corrupt sense of immorality, as a deep thrust hits his Sky's sensitive spot. The physical sensation does not raise his awareness anymore—not like how it has used to. The numbness makes him want to be astray in his lovely reveries where Reborn is—Reborn? . . . He has to dismiss the pointless phantasm._

_“Hah. . . I can't endure this any longer,” Harry murmurs, as his wavering persistence begins falling to dust, and the chances of him allowing (with uncertainty) incomplete parts of himself to be taken raise, even when the sole portion he is willing to offer is a kiss. Nonetheless, Reborn keeps disregarding his necessity—overtime it has become essential to Harry. Is it a fragment of his Sun's enjoyment?_

_“If so, what will you do?”_

_“I. . . I'll,” Is the word—leave? But, can he accomplish that? Harry thinks. It makes him wonder if he has been too absorbed by Reborn's mystique, if he can possibly abandon the conflict he has associated himself with frequent times. The Sky just forces himself to swallow the words hanging at the tip of his tongue._

_The innocent tenderness that has once bloomed in Harry's core decays in quickness. It is better that way. Perhaps in the following nights, he will be swept away with the moon. (Becoming gone with the Luna when the sun rises becomes reals.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classes are a: catastrophe. Fairly rushed so sorry for that. This barely had much graphic things. Mostly focused on thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to read more of these rare pairs, so I decided to write them myself. I hope you enjoy reading them. Your thoughts will be appreciated.


End file.
